you get it into your head

it goes something like this:

"i'm not going to make it.

the whole thing's a sham."


you're there in the bar

drinking a fancy drink

mostly mixer

but you act like it's

all gin


you slur your worrrrds


pretend the lady sitting next to you

is somebody you're permitted to talk with


move over to where she's sitting

she's drinking gin

straight gin


"hi," you say

it's feeble



"hi yourself," she replies.

it's angels calling from the

heavens-- she and her gin--

she's tougher than you


she can take it


"my name is frank.

what's your name?" you ask.

you ask sincerely


"why?" she says.


you're baffled

you don't know why


you don't know if you

want to screw her or

get into her head to

see how she works


and if it's to see how she

works it feels all fake

even if it isn't


even if it's real

that's what you get


"because," you continue

"because i'd like to meet you."


"what for?" she replies.

"who are you that i should meet you?

Especially in this place. who would

i ever want to meet in this place?"


you counter,

"not everybody here is an asshole.

some of us are sincere and decent."



you remember your last visit

to the SHADY BAR


you ordered a PINK VIRGIN

a concoction made from cream

peach schnapps and a cherry


you sat in the same seat

talking to an ugly woman with

a busted lip and three teeth


her tit was hanging out of her

dirty bra it had brown around

the nipple like someone had had

her tit up the ass


but with all the PINK VIRGINS

you had had that night she looked like

a perfect princess like the high

school prom queen-- the one who told

you you had a face like a sidewalk


and you said,

"what's your name?"


she looked at you as if


she might at least

suck your dick in the toilet

stall and swallow but instead


she said, "get away from me,

you white nigger!"


she moved away from you and

went with the guy with the oil

in his hair and four teeth


her kind


they made it together

somewhere so you could see it


you watched them suck each other's

lips like animals at the zoo they

drooled and tongues darted in and

out of places that haven't seen a

toothbrush in weeks


you thought about bacteria and

leeches death and crabs


you became erect and envious


they couldn't make enough

PINK VIRGINS to put you

out of this hell but you

ordered another one just the same


this time

you couldn't taste the peach

but you didn't care


it was over





the people

all have faces

like they were cut out

of magazines


those are the pretty ones


others have it like

sand blasted sphinxes

old and weathered and old


those are the ones that

make it


possessing the beautiful

like collectors of antiquity


polishing and nurturing and

admiring their expensive prizes


you're not the one


it's that way every night

but you keep coming back like

chicken pox or herpes


the same old you

but you get better


you survive the poison

adapt to it


make food out of it


poison becomes nutrition

roaches lunching on

nerve gas


spray me

spray me


i love it




you try a compliment


they tell you

in the books about how to meet

that special someone they tell you

to compliment something about them


compliment a piece of jewelry

compliment the eyes; so poetic

compliment anything at all


women like to be complimented

and why shouldn't they


anyone who spends so many hours

in the bathroom putting on

the makeup and the fragrance

and the hairspray and the powder

and the lip gloss and the tampon

and the nail polish and the

accessories and the hair color

and the mouthwash and the

eye liner and the deodorant

and the girdle and the lift bra

and the pantyhose on the shaven

legs of summer


you might as well approach

a beautiful woman at the bar

and say, "what are you, a

yeti? what have you done to

yourself? you look like an

oil painting that hasn't dried."


but men admire the work ethic

look at the time she took

to hide herself and become

this advertisement


i want one

i would pay for one

so instead you say,


"nice eyes," or

"nice hair," or

"you smell nice" or

"lovely earrings," or

"a body like yours

shouldn't be ruined by

a dress even if it is

ralph lauren."


why don't we instead

go up to these women and tell

the truth


"listen bitch, you can throw

all the makeup and jewelry

and fashion design in your

cheap budget on your gangly frame

but let's face it


i want to stuff my

hose in your yank!"


this line never gets a man laid

but at least it's honest


so you go for the compliment

let's say it's earnest


let's say you say,

"god, you're beautiful.


if you were an island

i'd want to be stranded on you


if you were a jail

I'd want to be imprisoned in you


if you were a rainbow

i'd be your storm."


but the truth is

you want to grind your pole

in her clam until you

shoot your ratty juice

and then


isn't it true;

she's the last thing you'd like

to see in your bed in the





you'd wake up

peel the sheets away from

the dried cum on your stomach


turn to her

looking at the crust

at the corner of her lips


the crust in her eyes

the crust at her dusty snatch


look at the blotch of blood

in the center of the sheets

and say to yourself,


"i should have fed the octopus

in my salt water tank." but

maybe you had her for her mind.



her mind


her mind




she wakes up


"where am i? who are you?

O god, no. i really need

to go. O god, why? Why did

i... what am i doing here...

my boyfriend's going to

kill me..." etc. etc.


you make her a boiled egg


she doesn't eat it


she throws on her clothing

and heads out of your

nasty little home as fast

as her cinderella feet can

carry her


and you eat the egg

you wash the sheet because

you know you don't want to

sleep in that smell


that smell that seems

to last for days


you find a personal

vaginal napkin in the trashcan

in the bathroom and there's

a white viscous fluid involved


she goes home to her boyfriend

they make passionate love

he gets your cum on his dick

and she bleeds on his bed too



you add lots of bleach to the laundry

and gag on the egg and call your mother

with whom you haven't spoken in years


"mom, hi. it's me, frank."


"frank? frank who?"


"your son, ma. i love you."


"who is this?" - click -




you'll be back at the bar

won't you


sure you will


you'll be drinking PINK VIRGINS

and looking at the beautiful people


you'll desire them


you'll imagine a life

where everything goes according

to the best movies you ever saw


you'll think about kissing

clean, clinical and germ free


you'll make passionate love and

there will be no blood, no yeast,

no inappropriate fluids


you'll get a house on a hill

with a white picket fence


you'll communicate and grow

and learn and prosper


you'll have children

one boy and one girl

and they'll be perfect little children


they'll go to school and become

a doctor and a lawyer


they'll drive nice cars

you'll sit on the porch swing with

your wife and while away the days


she'll knit a sweater and you'll

carve a piece of wood into a monkey




that's what will happen




sure it will



this is it and that's all there is



drink a few beers

watch the video play

listen to classical music


and this is it

there's nothing more to it


why bother

feeling what someone else

is feeling



clock tick tick



numbers go by

counting the moments

that can never be



the way they were


not in paintings

poems or

stories told in some

library to a bunch of

stoned kids dying to

get out of there and

back to the canal where

the fish are legendary




they drop their lines

and wait


wait watching the water

go by



poem after poem



you can type it

in a hurry


that doesn't make

a poem bad


per se


no and sometimes

it makes a poem better


to just

spill it out


like soup and cum and



there can be power

in a poem


written in a hurry



call the medics -- it could be the end



in the middle of a poem

he clutched his heart


reached over to the phone and

dialed 911


emergency! emergency!

the poet has done something important!


of course they arrive

several hours late


and the poet is dead

and the poem has become


smudged out in the blood



3 poems for 3 people



1: you are worthless

kill yourself

save air for people

that matter


2: heard you died recently

don't tell anyone or they

might make a big deal

about it


3: sometimes i think

about what it means

to be alive and sometimes

i think about what it means

to be dead


i suppose

either one will do



courage in the face of destiny



i put a flask of sake in the microwave

forty-five seconds


and as the sake warmed

i noticed an ant crawling around


i thought

he's going to fry and i watched


like a guard at the



forty-five seconds later

the ant was still crawling around


i had a certain admiration

for his courage as i pulled out


the sake flask and

crushed the ant with my finger



this writing will get me nowhere



i imagine

in a dream of sorts

that someone will bail me out


say something like

he's good or maybe

he's great


on a stage

they'll gather around

to hear me read

poems i've written


but the dream

turns sour


the audience boos

and leaves


then there's nothing left

but me on the stage

under the lights


then the lights go out



there must be someone



out there

i walk the streets

watch my shadow



from wall to



across the bushes

pirouettes over the grass

the most beautiful thing

in the moonlight



i see the whole body

alive with darkness


other times

spinning off into



blackness in





this is my love



terracotta floors



3:39 a.m.


typing into this monster




on a board

like a typewriter

only modern


i can talk with anybody

in the world if

if so desire


who has a computer

like i do


but for those who don't

i'll may never know them

just as i may never know


the deep tiny lines

in the terracotta floors

only a microscope can

show me


i don't own a microscope

some don't own computers

and some


will never know

the deep tiny lines



skeleton face



my friend

has a skull

in his file cabinet


we look at it

on occasion

and often laugh


it could have been

someone important or

maybe just another



like so many people

i know who are alive

with flesh on their heads


but they'll all end up

like this



if they're lucky


they'll end up

in a file cabinet

where somebody might

look at them and

on occasion



instead of

underground where

nobody laughs or

cries or





march 3rd



if people talk

i can't hear them



everything is quiet

except for the humming

of the computer



moisture is forming on the

grass in diamond beads


clouds move by



clouds always move by



this is march 3rd


something may happen

to make this date matter


i'll know tomorrow

when i read the newspaper


it will most likely be

a death that will make

march 3rd matter


somebody famous perhaps

or maybe somebody who

doesn't matter at all



help me




i ask for help


i ask into the air

to no one in particular


i say,

"help me. please, help."


then i cry

like an actor cries


fake tears

sometimes it seems


i feel



drink my beer in gulps

mad gulps


eat some pill

any pill


then life becomes smooth

smooth, so far...


not death or



more like comedy

and i laugh


fake laugh


laugh like a kid

who doesn't know what's coming






i've written a few poems about my father and i'm not sure why

because he was a sort of worthless drunk wishywashy guy-- not

much of a man-- i'll tell you a story-- i was in the back seat

of the car and i couldn't have been more than 14 years old-- and

mom was in the passenger seat-- we were on our way to disney

world-- and i saw my mom reach over with her hand-- and i saw

my father reach over with his hand-- and they interlocked their

pinky fingers-- and i looked at the two of them with their pinky

fingers interlocked and thought, "christ, how pathetic!"-- but of

course i didn't say anything-- i was much more excited about going

to disney world and going down main street to the magic shop where

i would make my father buy me a magic trick that turns quarters

into dimes-- and when we got there that's exactly what i did--

and the trick cost twenty-five dollars and after i read the

instructions i asked my father for a quarter and he gave it to me

and i put it into the magical box and waved my arm and abracadabra

the quarter turned into a dime that i gave back to my father

who said, "how about that!" and put the dime in his pocket and i

pocketed the quarter and used it later to buy candy-- i always

bought candy which ended up rotting my teeth and costing over

eight-hundred dollars to pull out of my face-- but i'll never forget

my father and the time we went to the movies and in the middle of

a big action sequence he said he had to go to the bathroom and i

waited and waited for him to come back-- and when he didn't come

back i went out of the theater to look for him and found him in

the bar next door drunk again on martinis.


i cried because we always shammed each other even though we loved

each other.


that's when i was 14 but i know better now. he's dead and i'm an




sleep & dream



the old world


and a new one



rainbow colors

naked jaunts

around the block

the neighbors wave



you fuck the

dog down the street

and the girl scout

and the alter boy


then you fly

on the roof of the

gas station and

spit fire until the

sheriff shoots you



but the bullets go

through you and you



scream and laugh

and cry


fly off

into a tornado and

die 3 maybe 4 times


your powers weaken

you fall into the snow


you think about santa

santa clause at the mall


marriage and

strap-on eleven inch



and lipstick


smiling when you're angry

for the camera


the money and the



money and the



money and the



O lawdy O lawd


she is standing there

her arms outstretched


tears and mouth

tits and heart


her arms outstretched

she reaches for you


reaches for

anything you can give her


but what can you give her

that matters?


the sound of gunfire as

black birds scatter

into the wind




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